


Ether (The Truth at Heart of Stars)

by Dawnshadow



Series: Two Scions Walk Into a Bar.... [8]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Gen, Headcanon, Implied Spoiler: Stormblood (re: uses of the Echo), Spoilers: 3.4, Spoilers: WARRING TRIAD, Urianger is a Good Friend I Think, Urianger is in Way Over His Head, Very Minor Setting Spoiler: Shadowbringers (really I don't think it's a big deal)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-10-12 05:23:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20558945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dawnshadow/pseuds/Dawnshadow
Summary: It is done. The Warriors of Darkness have been summoned, and even now walk Eorzia in the hopes of bringing salvation in the form of the Ardor to their own doomed home. At last the Scions are being reunited-- and unless Urianger can find the way to rewrite the ending to this drama of his own making, even whilst the first act is staged, it will be by his hands that they are once more rent asunder.





	Ether (The Truth at Heart of Stars)

**Author's Note:**

> I fully intend to come back to write a more complete tale of Urianger's time spent with the Warriors of Darkness during the Dragonsong War—to tell the story I -wanted- this to be— after I've completed the relevant content in Shadowbringers. 
> 
> This story has a single minor Shadowbringers setting spoiler that I picked up on from my FC—it seems to be a harmless one from where I'm standing—and alludes to another fairly minor setting detail revealed to me in RP that I think comes up later in Stormblood, but it's otherwise 100% written from information presented in or before Soul Surrender. As such, it has a few guesses on the correct characterization of the Warriors of Darkness… in particular one rather taciturn one who, nevertheless, has good reason to interact with Urianger.

"Begin," the Emissary said.

And Urianger did. His aetheric channels covered most of the smooth stone floor, ink painted thick and unbroken, the angles carefully calculated and drawn and checked thrice over—there would be no second chances, here, no room for even subtle error. His aether poured into it, danced along it, weaving into form, into a foundation; he closed his eyes to better focus on the feel of the aether as it moved along the pattern he'd set, felt the dark Echo brush over it like the touch of feathers. Not too quickly—he must not rush this, must give the Emissary time enough for _his_ part of the spell, which was much less predictable by its very nature. Urianger could not understand his words, but the tone of his voice as he started to cast (or perhaps pray, if there was any purpose to the differentiation) was solemn, reverent.

Call the souls forth from yonder with immortal, dark magics. Cloak them and anchor them in aether born of mortal magic, born of _this_ star. It was, quite possibly, his finest work—combining into a seamless whole two magics that were never intended to work together, that were, in fact, almost diametrically opposed; one of strict form, born of mathematical manipulation of the natural properties of aether, the other formless (though, he had learned, not without laws all its own) woven, for all he could tell, from the will of caster and deity intermingled.

The outcome of this was already out of his hands. Either his part of the spell was correct, or it was not—there was no modifying arcanima once one had started to cast.

(And he prayed, even as he knew that the outcome was decided, and even if it were only one that would hear his prayers now and _He_ was not something Urianger _ought_ to be praying to. He prayed nonetheless that _it was as it ought to be_, for the consequences if he had failed would be a horror beyond imagination—an entire Shard and every soul on it consumed by uncontrolled Light.)

And then he _felt_ it, cold formless magic binding to the precise angles and lines of his, weaving and twining and mingling in a way that was art in itself that he wished he could spare the attention to study more closely. He brought his part of the spell together to give the formless form, felt his aether _catch_ on lightblessed crystal, now guided and shaped by the spirits the Ascian had called as much as by the lines he'd calculated so painstakingly. Aetheric energy pulled from him as yarn from a skein as it raced, weaving itself around curves and edges. And then it _snapped _into place and the spell started to draw on the aether from the crystals. The ritual was _complete _and in the wake of relief and elation that it had, indeed, _been as it ought to have been_ the room was spinning—no, the world was spinning—

He'd expected this, known that the spell would push him to mortal limits (in fact, it had been carefully calculated to not push him past them, as it had risked doing in the early drafts—dying of fatal aether drain midway through the casting would have been most inconvenient.) He slumped to the floor as gracefully as he could manage—that was, not very—and groped for the bottle he'd left there. Struggled with the cork, fingers still buzzing from the channeling.

"Who's the Elf?" someone asked. Demanded. What was an _elf_? He still couldn't manage the cork. Would that he have had the foresight to loosen it…

Someone pulled the bottle from his hands. He heard the cork pop, then felt someone lift his mask and press the bottle to his lips. "Drink." A woman's voice—and practically on his level, odd considering that he had fallen to his knees. He took the bottle and drank the restorative potion greedily, then opened his eyes. A Lalafel— not one he recognized. His trust had not been misplaced, after all. She pulled the staff from her back and started to cast what he recognized to be a spell of examination.

"This _Elezen_ is a seeker of truth; an ally devoted to your cause," he heard the Emissary explain. "For moons, now, he has labored tirelessly in his efforts to save your Shard, at great personal cost, and greater still to come. His aid was instrumental in your summoning."

He felt, for a moment, warmth wash over him. "He's unharmed," the Lalafel said. "Nothing that time and rest won't cure."

"Thine assistance is appreciated." His voice bordered on a whisper. He set the bottle down, looking past her to the others they'd summoned here as he gathered the strength to stand. The other elezen seemed to be studying the channels of Urianger's half of the spell with no small interest. Perhaps he, too, was trained in the use of arcanima.

The one with the axe was watching him, frowning. "What would _he_ know about the cost, about sacrifice?" he asked, tone steeped in bitterness. "_How could he_?"

"Thou doth speak truly; thy star is not my own. I shall never see it with mine own eyes; until today, I was not certain the Emissary spoke truth when he told me of it, given his kind's many prior efforts to deceive mortalkind. But he has treated with me fairly, and so in this case I chose to risk trust—a trust that seems to have been not ill-placed. It lieth well within my power to help save thy world and the countless souls upon it. Given that, is it not my duty to preserve it by any means necessary?"

"Eloquently stated. We used to think the same way."

"But now thou doth not?"

"We don't. Not anymore."

He didn't realize that Elidibus had moved to stand behind him until he felt a hand close over his shoulder—supporting him? Or claiming him? "And this one _has_ sacrificed, though it be in another way. Hydaelin has blessed a particularly powerful Warrior of Light, one who risks tipping the balance, as you and yours inadvertently did. He was one of the Warrior's companions, once, before he understood the true cost of allowing the Light to grow too strong. Under my guidance he now serves Darkness, for so to balance the Light." Claiming, then—the strong implication of such, at least.

It was a part he was willing to play. Urianger closed his eyes, bowing his head slightly, feigning acquiescence. Shadow ghosted over him like a cloud passing 'cross the sun, and he found himself leaning into talon-tipped hand.

(What did he mean that there was a risk that their shard could go the way of the First? The champion was _strong_—even now they pressed through a remnant of the Allagan empire's dubious wonders, seeking to put a halt to Thordan's schemes-- but did they truly hold enough power to knock it out of balance entire? But now was not the time to question. Later. But if this were true—if— why hadn't he said so sooner—)

"Your pet Elf looks like he's on the verge of passing out here and now." Another woman. Not the healer. He bristled at being referred to a pet… elf? did the Spoken races have different names on the First?

"Thou art mistaken, if thou doth think me his pet. " He tried to stand, and he felt the dizziness spike before—

\--he was being carried, then settled down on something soft, and for a moment fought to reach the surface of his fatigue. "Rest," someone whose voice he knew not murmured, and he saw no reason to protest.

He stirred, disoriented, and opened his eyes. The masked Elezen man-- the one who had been studying his aetheric diagram before-- was watching him with his one exposed eye. "It's okay. You're still in the library. It should be morning, now." He sounded sympathetic. "Can you sit up? You'll need water, food before you rest again."

He knew this place. It was one of the couches in the reading room (they hadn't been half so musty when last he'd made use of them.) He tried to sit up and-- with some concentration to push through the dizziness and trembling in his arms-- managed it.

"I've done the same, before—pushed a little too far, put a little too much aether into it. The others asked me to watch over you when Lamimi needed to rest. Do I have leave to remove your mask?" There was a hint of amusement there. "I promise, I can hold my tongue."

Urianger nodded. "I do grant thee leave." He reached up with shaking hands, trying to take care of it himself. The Warriors of the First weren't the ones from whom he needed to hide his face—his Archon's Mark -- as it was. "This is not the first time I've pushed myself so hard nor drained myself so thoroughly, but many years have passed since the last." He set the mask aside and accepted the flask of water, then started to nibble from the plate of food presented to him—hard cheeses, pickled vegetables, cured meat; the sort of thing one would oft find in Ishgard. He hadn't felt hunger when he woke, but quickly found his appetite.

"The Ascian is gone for now, and Arbert, our leader, with him. The Ascian seemed highly displeased about something, but spoke naught of it to us. We thought you might have more luck."

Urianger nodded. "I will speak with him upon his return, if I am able."

The elezen nodded. "Good. And, if you wish to speak of it, how did you come to know him? To work with him so closely?"

Urianger finished off the flask of water, hesitating. But if anyone should know—should be told—it was them. "He came to me… moons ago, close to a year. Rather, he invited me to treat with him, that first time; it was I who did accept his invitation, though he has come to me without such invitation many times since. He told me much, that day, which unto that point had been long-forgotten by mortals of this shard, if ever known to begin with. He spoke of his god and how His imprisonment shattered the worlds. The purpose of the Calamities that have washed over mine own world time and time again, the Rejoining of these lost shards to one day become the whole that he believes they should always have been. The Flood of Dark that has consumed the Thirteenth in its entirety. The Flood of Light that threatens thine own home. The vital importance of keeping the two in balance. And, most critically, that he sought to save the First and wished my aid. And in knowing all this, I had no choice but to accept his request, to walk in his shadow, for to do otherwise would be to betray my most solemn oath."

"Even at the cost of breaking loyalty to your former allies? To your own Warrior of Light?" The mask concealed the Elezen's expression. "I know what we would have thought of one of ours aiding the Ascians, before we understood the price of our victory."

Urianger frowned. "…yes. Even _that_ cost I do willingly pay." Regardless of how much it did wound him. "This is the path I must walk. I believe the Emissary speaketh truth—thine presence now doth confirm it as such— but my former companions would think it a trick; suspect myself beguiled at best, or mayhaps imprisoned within my own soul by crystal dark." And at worst… at worst, they would know him to be the traitor he was, and without the knowledge that would justify it, gods forgive him.

"'Tis a heavy burden to bear." The Elezen put the platter and flask aside.

"It is," Urianger agreed, and carefully lay back down. "In the moons that have passed since that night, the Emissary and I have oft worked together in an attempt to solve the plight of thy world; I have learned much under his wing. While many of his kind have done me great wrong, he—to my knowledge-- hath not." He looked up at the Elezen. "If thou wouldst? Speak to me of thy world. Tell me of what I fight to save. "

"What _we _fight to save, friend." And Naillebert did, speaking of his home until Urianger could no longer will himself to stay awake to hear it and at last fell back into restorative sleep.

Urianger felt the light brush of _echo_ a breath before he noticed the Emissary had, at last, returned. "You're recovering swiftly," he noted. "Good."

"The rest and company hath helped." He was still mostly abed—the dizziness and exhaustion had passed, but he was far too easily fatigued, most of his energy going to restore his depleted aether reserves. But he was awake now, more often than not, and had collected a pile of books from the (formerly) forbidden section to peruse. Years of pent-up curiosity, now sated—alas, what he'd found there fell far short of the tomes he'd imagined therein contained.

The Emissary smiled, claiming the empty chair that sat next to the couch—Urianger was steady enough, now, that he needed not the continual company, and the Warriors of Darkness had moved on to the mission that had been presented to them. "Your work in the summoning spell was marvelous, even beyond what I expected of one of your talents. I wish that I had the means to offer you a proper reward for your efforts." He reached out, offering touch, comfort.

Urianger shook his head. He wanted—the villainous part of him that had been feigning subservience wanted gentle touches and soothing words—but it wasn't safe. It would be too easy to forget himself again in his current condition. (Was that why he had offered it?) "Thy gratitude is appreciated; if I may, I would request a reward of mine own choosing. I have questions, and would much like to see them answered."

"Of course, seeker of truth." He sat back.

"Doth the Warrior of Light truly risk tipping the balance? Of sending this world, as well, into a Flood of Light? And, if so, why is this the first time thou hath seen fit to mention it, in all the time thou hath spent in my presence, sharing with me thy knowledge of hidden truths?"

"Until recently, I was unaware of how swiftly the situation was escalating. They had lost their Blessing and much of their power, and so I had become less concerned—until their power revived, even more vibrant than ever it had been." Was that worry that made him frown? "What's more, they have since tipped the balance ever more precariously toward light. Two more who should never have known death now do."

_Two? _But there had been but a single piece of auracite— how? He kept most of the surprise from his face. "I presume Lahabrea was one of them. The other?"

"You presume correctly, although—interestingly—the Warrior targeted him second, despite their personal history. Igeyorhm was the other who fell." He leaned forward, clearly considering something. "Tell me. Had you been in Lahabrea's position—wishing to take down the Warrior of Light— what would you have done differently?"

Urianger frowned. Just considering the question made his gut wrench… yet already, he knew the answer. "May I presume that an Ascian hath access to their host's physical talents, as well as memory?"

"Once more, you presume correctly."

He did not want to answer the question. He pushed the villainous facade forward, fell into the role—_he_ wouldn't hesitate to give the Ascian the answer he wanted. "In such a position I'd have waited, patiently and quietly, until solid alibi did present itself, then used Ascian teleportation to go yonder to the Warrior of Light. While the echo doth warn them of imminent danger, they would trust a presumed ally's presence at their back to be adequate protection, not the source of selfsaid danger. Once an unremarkable knife found itself through their heart sheathed, I would simply teleport back to whence I came, seen by no living soul."

"And that is why Lahabrea failed." Elidibus was grinning. "Underestimating mortals _repeatedly_ was his downfall. His battle could have been won long before his first true confrontation with the Warrior of Light."

"Clearly, thou dost not repeat his mistakes." He looked down at the stack of forbidden books. "What is the next step, now that the ritual is complete? I presumed that with this act my role in thy scheme would be at its end, but thou hast made quite clear my place as thou wouldst have them understand it, and that thy plans for me are not yet complete. How is allowing the Warriors of Darkness to kill primals while this shard's Warrior is entangled in the Dragonsong War to stop the Flood of Light and spare the First?"

"You misunderstand our goal, my Archon. The plan was never to stop the Flood of Light—I tried to do such on the Thirteenth and already know it to be futile. No, our goal is to _save_ the First—to Rejoin it ere it is consumed."

"But that would be to take the lives of all those who have survived thus far." There had to be some other way.

"Yes. Death is the inevitable end to all mortal life, and for those of the First it is no distant inevitability. Better to be drawn to the Aetherial Sea than to be consumed by stagnant Light. If you desire—if understanding would once more aid your acceptance— I will offer evidence of my claims. The Warriors of Darkness are well aware of what fate the First will see; it is well past time that you accept this fate, as well."

"I would welcome such evidence. But to do that—to prematurely initiate the eighth Rejoining-- would be to invoke Calamity upon the Source." Urianger suppressed his objections—the villain would agree that it was a necessary evil with the First in such a fragile situation. "And so that is thy plan. It is to drive the beast tribes ever into deeper desperation, into more powerful summonings of the Primals, destabilizing the land. And with the Scions scattered--" or trapped in his talons, with the fate of a Shard therein to bind him-- "and the Warrior of Light but one man…"

"They will see their constructed gods fall at the hands of the Warriors of Darkness over and over again, ever more powerful. And, in time, this will prepare them to turn to a true god."

"_Thy_ god." Urianger studied the Ascian. Wise of them to wear masks as their true faces, masks that betrayed little. "And thou wouldst go to them in peace, white-cloaked, to introduce them to Him even as thy agents cause them ever the more anguish."

"So very perceptive." He was clearly pleased.

"Such perception is why thou didst approach me, is it not? And why thou dost to this day retain me at thy side." He hoped that he wasn't overacting—while such a thing had been natural the last time he'd taken up such an endeavor, when he'd played the role of an ominous and doubtlessly ancient prophet heralding what was then merely a potential Calamity, this time it would not go over nearly so well. "What is to be my role in this plan?"

"It is, for the time being, threefold. First, once you are recovered, you must earn your place among the Warriors of Darkness and act as their guide on this star. Secondly, you will continue to pretend that nothing has changed among your former allies, and go to them when I do not have need of you. We must remain aware of the status of Hydaelin's Champion, and you are uniquely suited for such work… not to mention the looming threat of the Warring Triad. Fortunately, you have ready access to an Eikon-slayer of dangerously unmatched potential; I think it would be best to have them deal with that situation." He smirked. "Thirdly, I would have you introduce someone to the Scions. Remember that I have no quarrel with them, just with the imbalance the Warrior of Light brings with them."

"Of whom dost thou speak?" Urianger asked. "Even in thy service, I would not introduce someone who would do them harm." …that hadn't been the villain talking. This would take practice.

"Oh, no, Archon. There is no harm in this. The one I would ask you to take to them is the last survivor of the Thirteenth. The one who, had the Flood of Darkness not overtaken his Shard while he was scarce out of childhood, would have been their Warrior of Light. It is as I told you: although I serve Zodiark, my _fate_ is to preserve balance. If that means to preserve the life and existence of one of Hydaelyn's Chosen—the last glimmer of Her light from the Thirteenth— then that is what I must do."

The Emissary worked to preserve Light! To save a child. Urianger was aware he'd completely failed to hide his surprise at this revelation—while the situation was unspeakably tragic, the resolution spoke a truth in itself—that the Emissary's words of a gentle darkness were not just a means of enticement, but something that was truly an aspect of his self, however concealed by his usual need to counter Light. "The place where Asicans dwell—the space between life and death on the shores of the Aetherial Sea—is no place for a mortal child claimed by Light." Urianger agreed. "And so thou seekest for him a new home."

"Yes. He understands the risk of a Flood, and is willing to do what must be done to balance the Source. He and your Scions are of one mind." Elidibus reached out, once more resting a hand on Urianger's shoulder. "Do not mistake me. He _does_ serve me, much as you do now, and has at my feet learned the same truths that I have since taught you. But he is no Ascian. I seek in this only the best for him. And I think his talents would be most useful in dealing with the Triad… and, for him, most edifying. He's never had the chance to work with other mortals before."

It was sensible. "I would meet this child of a doomed world. And, if I agree with thy assessment, I would gladly take him to the Scions." Was this truly as straightforward as it seemed? Could it be?

"Wonderful." He stood, releasing Urianger's shoulder. "You should rest, now. Regain your strength. I will bring him here when the time is right."

"I understand. And do fully intend to not push myself too hard." He watched the Emissary vanish, then lay down again, picking up the next book from the stack. Yet he found himself too distracted by his thoughts to focus on his reading.

Ifirit's soul-burning fire broke against the ward of shadow that the Emissary had placed upon Urianger ere he departed—protection like unto the sort one blessed with the Echo enjoyed, though it would be short-lived. Long enough to once more banish Ifirit from this realm. Personally seeing to the demise of the Lord of Embers hadn't _quite_ been what Urianger had expected when he'd been told he'd need to earn his place amongst them.

"Still ours, friend?" Naillebert asked, turning his head to look at him.

Urianger nodded, grinning under the mask. _Of course_ Ascians would have some form of magic that protected against tempering, given their role in tempting mortals to summon Primals, and he'd been witness to the casting—while he doubted that the Emissary would teach him the spell directly (if a mortal were even capable of casting such) now all he had to do was work out how it had functioned and, if possible, duplicate the effect. "Dist thou doubt that his magic would prove adequate shelter from the flame? I find my will unchanged, my purpose unbroken."

"Good." The Ele—the Elf turned his attention back to Ifirit. "Stay near me. Move as I do."

"Yes, Naillebert, do shepherd him. I'm sure the Ascian would be _most_ distressed if his pet were to die." The Miquo'te nocked an arrow, then watched Arbert, waiting for the right moment.

"I pray thine arrows are half so sharp and barbed as thy tongue."

"Enough, J'rhoomale." Blanhaerz raised his shield. "Focus on the fight."

"Oh, I'm perfectly focused." She grinned, then let her arrows fly as Arbert charged the Primal. Urianger sent in his amber carbuncle, then started casting.

It was a dance, of sorts, and he was nothing but glad of the time he'd spent training with the Flame General as he started to cast his arcanima, finding the correct page by feeling the ridges, eyes on the Primal and the ground around him. Naillebert moved as the stone under them started to glow, and Urianger, moving with him, barely managed to get out of the ring before the fire surged.

From there, the dance intensified. Moving away from rolling fires, out of the charging Primal's path. When searing flame found him he found it quickly followed by soothing healing, and suspected that—as the only one who risked death here—he was being well-watched. He kept casting, weaving damaging spells with healing when it seemed that Lamimi was in danger of being overwhelmed.

"The nails! Destroy the nails!"

He changed his targets, building layers of erosive magic on each of the constructs before pouring his full energy into one, then another. The Primal laughed mockingly as they attacked, bringing the nails down, one by one. And then he launched himself back into the center of the Ring, scorching hellfire spreading from him. Urianger quickly flipped to a page with a warding spell and raised it around himself and the other warriors as the ring of fire broke over them.

Then they moved once again, the dance resuming. Blanhaerz stepped in, taking a swiping claw on his shield as Arbert struck a cleaving blow at a weak spot, even as a spell of astral frost struck true. The carbuncle placed a protective barrier on Lamimi as she moved in to better heal their wounds, burns from the Primal's firey breath. Urianger sidestepped another ring of glowing flame, cast another spell, raw ruinous energy tearing through scale and flesh.

And then it was over. Ifirit roared, already starting to break into motes of aether, returning to whence he had been called. Urianger watched him vanish, barely feeling the wounds that hadn't been healed yet or the heat of the arena. They'd won.

He'd never expected victory to be so exhilarating.

It was amazing how you only realized how much you took aetherytes for granted when you couldn't use them anymore. Honestly, it was amazing how much you took a lot of things for granted. Two days to go until Ser Aymeric's peace conference—and nigh on a week scouting Dravania in hopes of finding another sign of those "Warriors of Darkness" after… after the Warrior had returned from the Antitower.

(After Minfilia hadn't.)

Really, the choice had been between staying busy and sulking in the Forgotten Knight for the next week, and, to be quite honest, Thancred had had more than his fill of drinking and wallowing in his own misery.

His linkpearl pinged. _"Urianger _isn't_ at the Waking Sands, "_ Alphinaud said._ "He told them he was leaving to do some research, but didn't tell anyone where he was going."_

"Passing strange…."

"_Thou needst worry not, Master Alphinaud. I simply required access to books not available locally, and word hath reached me that our Champion had cleared the Gubal Library of its most pernicious defenses."_

There was a rustle over the linkpearl. Thancred clearly envisioned the solemn nod, as if the Warrior stood before him.

_"Good. We need must speak to you about something, Urianger—something best done in person." _Alphinaud sighed._ "I wish I'd known you were nearby before I ventured all the way to Vesper Bay. They still haven't installed an aetheryte, even with us long departed."_

_"Mine apologies. Would I have known that thou didst seek me, thou wouldst have been informed of such."_

" Alphinaud, I'm still in the area. I can stop in and… tell him."

_"Are you sure you want to do this, Thancred?" _Alphinaud asked.

"Yes. I'm certain. I'll be there in a little over an hour." In fact, he was already walking in that direction.

A few minutes later, his linkpearl pinged once more. A private channel.

_"Thancred. I have… something important to tell you."_

"Alisaie?" Well, that was a voice he hadn't expected to hear. "It's been ages since I've seen your face. How goes your training?"

_*Well enough. But that's not why… listen. Urianger is likely in the forbidden area. You probably want to knock before you go in."_ Thancred frowned. Why did she sound so concerned?

"You do realize that's not the sort of books they have in there."

Silence.

_"That was a mental image I did _not_ need. But I'm serious. Let him know you're nearby."_

"Dare I ask why?"

_"You're probably happier not knowing." _She cut her end of the connection with that. Well, that was nothing if not ominous…

Thancred did, indeed, heed Alisaie's warning and knocked before he entered. To what end he wasn't sure—Urianger called for him to enter and he did, only to be greeted—predictably—to a table full of notes and stacked books. Thancred looked them over, curiously, and raised an eyebrow at how closely they matched up with what the Warrior had told them of the conflict of Light and Dark, broken stars and shattered god… truths confirmed, as if Minfilia's words needed to be confirmed, by the sickening sense of _familiarity_ they awakened in him. "Well, it seems that half of what I was to tell you, you've somehow already discovered on your own. I honestly can't say I'm surprised."

Urianger looked at him, head tilted. "…Thou hath changed."

"Yes, getting stuck in the wilderness for the better part of a year, _after _nearly going adrift in the Aetherial Sea, will do that to a man." It seemed that Urianger, at least, hadn't changed much at all. "I'm amazed Tataru hasn't pinned you down and made you new clothes yet."

"Her attempts were valiant, but, alas, in vain. I _like_ my robes, and therefore won the battle of wills."

"Anyway… there's news. About Minfilia." Thancred tried to keep his voice steady. "She's…"

"What of her?"

"She got caught up in Y'sholta's Flow, called by Hydaelyn to become Her Will. Her… avatar, I suppose."

"Were I to chance a guess to the truth of Minfilia's current state, I might name her _Her_ Emissary." Urianger looked nothing if not intrigued. "Go on."

"Our Champion ventured into the Antitower to seek her out, once we suspected Hydaelyn's intervention that night, and spoke with her. Aside from… all that…" he motioned toward the table "…she made us aware of a few other problems. Namely, that there's a good reason—well, good for _them_— why the Ascians are so very desperate to initiate the eighth Umbral era."

"That, I have not seen mentioned in prophecy, though much of the truth hidden at this star's heart has been revealed to me—hidden in words that concealed intent, should one lack the proper context. What is their reason?"

"From my understanding—keep in mind that I wasn't there in person to hear this, I just got the Champion's summary— the Ascians' god is broken. And every time there's a Calamity, and another of the shards joins to the whole, he gets a little less broken, a little stronger… and Hydaelyn a little weaker. Like a scale, moving weights from one side to the other."

"Thine meaning, here, is that they now stand balanced, and the next step, the next Rejoining, will unbalance the equilibrium in His favor." His hands clenched into fists at his side. "Once more, and victory is all but theirs."

"Not that hopeless, but…." 'Twas a bitter pill to swallow. "…but… there's more to it. Minfilia is… she's not coming back. She's having trouble even keeping her form, much less…" Urianger was still looking at him, expectantly. Thancred swallowed. "…the Mother Crystal is weak. She used too much of her strength, and Minfilia… she's part of Her now, she could only appear through the Light of the Champion's Crystal."

"Thou didst say it was through the invocation of crystal she did appear?" His voice was hushed, yet somehow… hopeful? Mayhaps even inspired.

"Yes. What—you have an idea, don't you?" If anyone could figure out how to bring her back, it was Urianger. Did he dare hope that, for once, something was going to go _right_?

"I dare speak no more of it. But… thou hast my gratitude for sharing with me this news. I know how it must burden thee." He sat down at the desk. "I will need time to work on this, to research. Please… seek thy comforts elsewhere and leave me to this."

Thancred nodded. Urianger had always reacted to hurt by distancing himself, by isolating himself. He dared not impose. "I'll be in Dravania for some time if you need me."

Urianger nodded, silently, and Thancred returned to the wilds. He did not hear from Urianger again for some time.

So that was it—the Emissary's plan. Yes, he wished to save the First—Urianger believed him sincere in that; a Flooded shard was useless to his god. But saving it by means of invoking the Ardor… _that_ was his true goal. To strengthen his god to the point where he would now be dominant. 'Twas no wonder he had not seen fit to share _this_ hidden truth, and had nearly taken Urianger for a fool in the process. If not for Minfilia—for Hydaelyn— sending this warning, he would have blindly led the stars to doom, thinking himself by fate and destiny bound.

There was, perhaps, a way to save the First whist not provoking calamity. Urianger would play the villain—pitting old friends against new— and pray that he might one day find forgiveness for his betrayal, for the sacrifice he was about to make. He did not expect he would be welcome again at their side. But to empower one man to change the course of fate… to save a Star, to prevent the further empowerment of the dark god…. he thought their company a worthy trade, a sacrifice willingly offered.

At least, that's what he told himself.

**Author's Note:**

> MSQ status: Pulled something in my shoulder-- don't worry, it's already mostly better-- and spent most of the week unable to use a mouse comfortably, so I had to take a very unwanted break. I'm currently sitting about half a dozen quests into Yanxia. So far Stormblood is entirely too hopeless and dire, which I can understand thematically, but I get the idea. Everyone's spirits are crushed. It's honestly a bit depressing.
> 
> IMO the Garlean Empire would be a lot more successful if they weren't complete assholes.


End file.
